previously had been granted a small pension on the score of illhealth, though barely a middle-aged man. He had a stroke of some sort, and the doctor did not think he would be able to work again. I also heard that he had married Miss Shaw, of Bowes, the Fanny Squeers in "Nicholas Nickleby." About 1894 an elderly gentleman walked into the branch bank at Newcastle; he was a little lame, and had a slight impediment in his speech. After a good look round he said, "I wonder if anyone remembers me. I am Theophilus White. I used to be here more than forty years ago." I said I was senior, and feared no one would remember him, but the old story flashed upon me of his retirement and marriage with Fanny Squeers. In the evening he and his wife spent some hours with me. It appeared that upon taking his pension he went to New Zealand, his health improved, he went into business, prospered fairly well, and he and his wife had come to have one more look at the old country. Mrs. White was a bright little lady in no way like her portrait drawn by the great novelist. In a few months he returned to the land of his adoption, where he lived for some years. He died December 30th, 1901, at the advanced age of eighty-three, after enjoying his pension over forty-nine years. But even this is not a record. I know of another case of a man leaving as he was pronounced by the doctor to be in a decline. He drew a small pension for fifty-one years. I trust I may be spared to do the same myself; at any rate, I intend to have a good try.

Holidays.

Holidays (or leave, as it is sometimes called) have undergone a great change for the better. My father was in the Bank seven years before he got a fixed leave of absence. True, there were sixteen public holidays, viz., ten Saints' days, King's accession, Queen's birthday, King Charles' martyrdom, Charles II restored, gunpowder plot, and New Year's Day. Such short spells were of little use to anyone. What could be done on a single day? There were no excursions as now; in fact, no trains, and a coach ride to Clapham cost 1s. 6d.

Pillion and

The country banker, when he and his wife came to town, would probably ride pillion. In 1819 the Hobby Horse. townsman was learning the hobby horse at "John"son's Pedestrian Riding School, 377, Strand, and 40, Brewer Street, Golden Square."

The authorities in a few of the leading thoroughfares were giving up oil lamps and adopting gas, but I fancy the banker would still be using wax candles. Steel pens were unknowneveryone carried a good penknife to mend his quill. The schoolboy still has his penknife, but little thinks of the origin of the word. The sand dredger was used to dry letters until blotting paper was introduced. There were no envelopes. Letters were all sealed with wax, or wafer. No postage stamps-the postage on country letters being anything from one to five shillings.

Dress.

The dress of the ordinary bank clerk was knee breeches, silk stockings, shoes with silver buckles, tail coat, and often a white tie, the latter being still retained at Messrs. Hoare's, while Messrs. Coutts' draw the line at a clean shave and a frock coat. Hirsute adornments were regulated by strict orders from headquarters, beards or the moustache not being tolerated for many years, reminding us of the time when the Newcastle apprentices were compelled to wear their hair according to a regulation cut, which in many cases had to be forcibly carried out.

The sons of the wealthy London bankers were gorgeously attired, and, with all fops of the day, were called Macaroni, the members of a club of that name being the first to introduce that delicacy to this country.

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Lawson, in his History of Banking," gives an Junior's Dress interesting account of a junior's dress. He says the at Barclay's. story was related to him (presumably about 1835) by

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a clerk who had been upwards of fifty years in Messrs. Barclay's. "It appears that the staff consisted of three clerks only, and, on the occasion of the third coming to the office for the first time, he was dressed after the following fashion:-He wore a long flapped coat, with large pockets; the sleeves had "broad cuffs, with three large buttons, somewhat like the coat worn by Greenwich pensioners at the present day; an embroidered waistcoat, reaching nearly down to the knees, with an enormous bouquet in the button-hole; a cocked hat; powdered hair, with pig-tail and bag-wig; and a gold-headed cane, "similar to those of the present day carried by the footmen of "ladies of rank." On the walls of our Institute there hangs a painting by an unknown artist of this identical "Junior," the costume being in strict accordance with Lawson's description.

Vauxhall and sundry noted pleasure gardens were too often resorted to, with results recorded in the stanza of an old song that comes to my recollection, a parody on the "Fine old English "Gentleman."

Instead of being at his desk at nine

He's not there till ten,

Perhaps not even then;

His head aches, his hand shakes,

And he can scarcely hold a pen,

But then these little accidents will happen

To the steadiest of men.

Now the senior clerk's a horrid man,

As cross as he is sly.

He calls up this good young man
And asks him the reason why:
And this good young man replies,
For he scorns to tell a lie,
That he's been sitting up all night with some sick friend
To the best of his memory.

The habit of snuff-taking in excess was great, and Snuff-taking. lingered until my time. The folds of every old gentleman's waistcoat were laden with snuff. No two men ever met without the box being presented. The doctors' opinion of the habit could not have been known in those days. Doctor," once asked a patient, "do you think the amount of "snuff I take is likely to affect my brain?” "No, Sir," said the doctor, "I do not think any man, with any brain, would ever "take snuff."

The question of refreshment was a difficult problem Refreshments. in early days. There were no coffee or tea rooms, except of the vilest type. The great luncheon rooms were Izant's, in Bucklersbury, and Pamphlion's, at the back of the Bank. The proprietors of the former drove up from Clapham every morning in a handsome carriage and pair. The son, clad in a linen coat, took pay, and "a penny for the waiter," as you left. Report said that the pence so taken was the son's income. As they dined about a thousand people per day, he would not fare badly.

It should be remembered that nearly everyone walked to and from business at that time, three, four, or five miles being no uncommon distance. Of course, there were some exceptions.

I knew one gentleman who lived in Friday Street, Cheapside; he used to saunter down to the Bank about half-past eight in dressing-gown and slippers, sign the "appearance book," and then return home to shave and breakfast at his leisure.

Personally, I did a four miles walk. Add to that a heavy morning on the out-telling, by twelve or one o'clock you could eat anything. Political economy had to be called in, and where to get the best feed at the smallest cost was the problem. In my opinion nothing surpassed a butcher's shop somewhere at the back of Copthall Court; here you purchased a grand chop or steak for 5d. or 6d., that was sent to the public-house next door, beautifully cooked for a penny. Potatoes (in their jackets), bread, half of stout, and waiter, each another penny. For elevenpence you got a capital meal-beat that at the present day if you can! I believe all the places I have named have been swept away for street improvements.

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

OF

CALIFOΩΝΙΑ

The Garden,
Bank of
England.

For many years at the Bank of England the living worked side by side with the dead. The beautiful garden, as we know it, was originally the churchyard of St. Christopher-le-Stocks. Lawson, writing in 1850, says:-" It is enclosed within an iron fence, and sur"rounded on all sides by the offices of the establishment. One "of the clerks, of the name of Jenkins, lies buried in this con"secrated ground. The cause of his interment in such a place

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arose out of a fear, as expressed by his friends, that in consequence of his singular height (he was upwards of seven feet) "his body would be exhumed if he were buried in any other place," bodies in those days being as much in demand as bullion. In February, 1867, the old churchyard was cleared out, the work being carried on at night. Ten tons' weight of bones and other remains were removed to Nunhead Cemetery, where they were reverently interred in vaults specially procured for the purpose.

Lottery

In my former address I gave a short account of the State lotteries, observing that from 1785 to 1823 not Tickets. a single year passed without the issue of a lottery, the management of which was placed in the hands of the Bank of England. Since then I have been fortunate enough to discover a lottery ticket signed by Abraham Newland, one of the most noted of the Chief Cashiers of the Bank of England. The Journal of our Institute for December, 1909, announces the gift of a lottery ticket, signed by A. Newland, to our collection of old bank-notes. No man's name was more constantly before the public, as it was the custom at that time to make all notes issued by the Bank of England payable to their chief cashier or bearer.

Abraham
Newland.

Added to this he signed some of the lottery tickets, as we now see. His life has been written; the publication is dated 1808, but the author's name is not given. Newland was born 1730; his father was a miller at Grove, Bucks. He entered the service of the Bank of England, 1748, was appointed chief cashier 1782, and retired September 17th, 1807. A few days after he moved to 38, Highbury Place, where he died November 21st of the same year. He declined a pension, but accepted a service of plate that cost one thousand pounds. He was buried at St. Saviour's Church, Southwark. His biographer records that he left a very large fortune, and (p. 98) adds:"While Mr. Newland was in the Bank, the vast system of public expenditure made frequent loans to the ministers necessary, "and it was by the purchase of shares in these loans that Mr. "Newland acquired by far the largest portion of his wealth." It is said that for twenty-five years he never slept outside the

Bank. He was evidently a bit of a humorist, as he wrote the following lines for his own epitaph:-

"Beneath this stone old Abraham lies;
Nobody laughs, and nobody cries
Where he's gone and how he fares-
No one knows, and no one cares."

One of the most honest epitaphs ever written.

It is stated that Dibdin immortalised him in some Dibdin's Song. whimsical verses, which have been so differently quoted by various writers that I have taken some trouble to get an authentic account of the matter. It appears that the song in question was not written by the well-known song writer, Charles Dibdin, but by his son, Charles Isaac Mungo Dibdin. He wrote it for Johannot in 1799, and it was first sung at a temporary circus in Liverpool, where Johannot was engaged in a company of Parker and Co. The song was the subject of a lawsuit some years after, which involved a question of copyright. The proper air for it is the old tune, "Rogues' March." By the kindness of Mr. E. Rimbault Dibdin I give a full copy of the verses transcribed by him from the original MS.:

There ne'er was a name so bandied by fame,
Thro' Air and thro' Ocean, or thro' land;
As one that is wrote upon ev'ry bank note-
And you all must know Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland,

Notorious Abraham Newland,

I've heard people say, "Sham Abram" you may,
But you mustn't sham Abram Newland.

For fashion or Arts should you seek foreign parts,

It matters not wherever you land;

Turk, Jew, Christian, or Greek, one language they speak,

The language of Abraham Newland.

O, Abm. Newland!

Wonderful Abraham Newland,

Tho' with compliments cramm'd, you may die and be d-d,

If you haven't an Abraham Newland.

The world is inclin'd to think Justice is blind,

But Lawyers know well she can view land;
But, then, what of that? She'll blink like a bat,

At the sight of an Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Magical Abraham Newland!

Tho' Justice, 'tis known, can see thro' a mill stone,
She can't see thro' Abraham Newland.

Your Patriots who bawl, for the good of us all,
Kind soul! here like mushrooms they strew land!

Tho' loud as a drum, each proves Orator Mum,
If attacked by stout Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Invincible Abraham Newland!

No argument's found, in the world, half so sound,
As the Logic of Abraham Newland.